I can’t forget the nasty shout: “Geez! What a bunch of dumb queers!”

That was what my coach said anytime we didn’t play well on my high school hockey team. And we rarely played up to his standards. The words were an emasculating disapproval to most and a bitter identification to me. Not aggressive enough. Not fast enough. Not physical enough. Hockey magnified my closeted shame such that even after hearing encouragement from my best friends, I didn’t play my senior year. But sometimes now, on Sunday evening, the joy I get from playing in the MGHA feels like a little, beautiful revolution. Instead of feeling anything negative, I cherish the freshly Zambonied wet ice, the unique rink smell, the sound of a puck drop, the sensation of rough ice under steel blades, a glove-on-glove congratulatory hi-five, the excitement of a beautiful goal, or the ‘ding’ of a shot hitting the post. I love the game. But more importantly, I love and feel deep gratitude towards all those who are the league/community as they cultivate the best part of the sport… and ourselves.

So to all MGHA-ers, from the bottom of my heart, thank you. “What a bunch of fun queers,
allies, and good people you are!” And don’t you forget it!

My story is long, but it’s been a long and winding road. (Or perhaps a wet and slushy ice rink?!) This, my friends, is my journey to playing gay hockey and how it has helped me with “becoming a human again” as I like to say. Not that I was ever actually not human, but you don’t always feel human when you don’t feel like you fit in society, and you can’t trust your own body. Let me explain…

Period 1: Old and Gay
Once upon a time, back when I was 10 years old, I decided I wanted to play hockey. However, the options for joining a team were limited. As a girl, I could join the girls’ team along with the girls who’d been skating since they could walk (umm…yikes!), or I could join a lower level “co-ed” team of all boys. Great, as a sensitive pre-teen girl, joining a team of boys sounded like a recipe for disaster and was most definitely out of the question. Thus, I concluded at the ripe age of 10, that I was definitely too old to start playing hockey.

Instead, I joined a sport that was more acceptable and accessible to pre-teen girls: basketball. And I hated it. I was the only one who had never played before, and my confusion showed. In my professional photo, I had my jersey on backward, and that alone tells you about how well I did on the court. I felt stupid and deficient. To this day, I have a sour spot for basketball. The desire to play hockey remained in the back of my mind as I grew up. I considered it again in high school, but I then became aware of the stigma that “girls who play hockey are gay.” In a time when I just wanted to fit in and be “normal,” there was no way I’d risk people calling me “gay.” Hell no, I wasn’t gay.

In reality, I’d never even considered the fact that I could be gay because growing up, we never learned that relationships were anything other than a male and a female. I didn’t know anyone who was actually gay and not just the derogatory “gay” that kids labeled each other around the turn of the century. I wasn’t really into boys, and I wasn’t into make-up and other stereotypical teenage girl things, but I thought I was just weird and broken. After all, it was better to be secretly immensely ashamed of being weird and broken than to be gay, right?!

Toward the end of high school, one of my friends rekindled my desire to play hockey. She had found a women’s rec league in town. Cool, we could join together and I wouldn’t look so “gay.” To our despair, we then learned we had to be 18 (or 21?) and we were under the age limit – with no exceptions. Ok, so now I was too young to play hockey!

Period 2: Betrayal by my body
My chance to play hockey in college (and the years thereafter) dwindled once again when I developed debilitating health symptoms and all my life’s plans changed significantly. l often felt on the verge of passing out, and I blacked out on my way to class a few times. My heart would race as if I were in the 3rd period of a championship hockey game – just from standing up or sitting upright for too long. I had constant dizziness, migraines, fatigue, nausea, sensory sensitivities, etc. My symptoms were countless and all over the place. I was later diagnosed with an autoimmune neurological disease and dysautonomia, a dysfunction of the body’s autonomic nervous system. Basically, my body was attacking itself and cheating by making up its own rules instead of doing the normal body/organ functions. And such cheating was not at all conducive to playing hockey.

My health declined further in the years following graduation. I was eventually mostly stuck at home. I had trouble walking without assistance, I lived off tube feeding to my intestines, and I had IV lines in my arms and chest. I spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital for several years. Needless to say, things were not good. I was much too sick to play hockey!

Period 3: Anxiety Takes the Reins
On top of the health fiasco, I was also becoming more and more isolated socially which also led to depression. As an introvert with some level of social anxiety already, the isolation only solidified my feelings of awkwardness and not knowing how to socialize like a human being. My friends eventually moved away or fell out of contact with me because I was too sick to ever do anything or because they feared what would happen to me. The ever-increasing isolation coupled with the fear that I could no longer relate to anyone my age added up to some wicked social terror. It also led to some serious internal debates about whether I had a place or purpose in society or whether I was just a burden taking up resources. I was too anxious, depressed, and sick to play hockey!

But humans, like monkeys, are social animals. (I work with monkeys, hence the reference!). I was so lonely and I longed for friendships, acquaintances, and connection. As my health improved, thanks to finally finding the right (albeit expensive!) treatments, I ventured out into the world a bit. In all honestly, I partly did it just enough to appease my therapist and let her know that I tried doing the whole social thing and it sucked…and my first experiences did suck. As an academic, I just wanted there to be a manual on “How to be a Human 101” that I could memorize so I could avoid all the awkward and craptastic experiences. I couldn’t even socialize with others. I was clearly too awkward to play hockey!

Celebrating the Win – ie What Gay Hockey Means to Me:
With ongoing professional encouragement and because I’m a good student (even in therapy!), I finally took the big leap and signed up to play hockey with MGHA. I paid the dues before my anxiety could change my mind and tell me to back out. Then this really cool thing happened – I went to my first few weeks of hockey, and each time, although I was physically drained, I felt energized and excited instead of dejected and rejected. I didn’t want to wait another week before going back!

I’d never met such a welcoming, inclusive group of people before joining gay hockey. Upon meeting the folks of MGHA, I felt an instant connection or sense of belonging that I haven’t felt in a long time – likely since before I was that 10-year-old girl afraid to play hockey with the boys, concerned that I wasn’t feminine enough or that I didn’t like boys enough. I truly believe this is because I finally feel safe and comfortable being 100% me without having to hide part of myself or act the way I think I should act in order to fit in.

Society tends to say tell us things like “Be yourself” and “Embrace your differences.” They tell us that “Love is love,” and “Disabilities are just different abilities.” However, those words are rarely backed up by action or genuine feelings of it being safe to believe it or celebrate it without being judged or othered to some degree. Often, it feels like society says one thing, but means another. In MGHA, the actions and sentiments are backed up with the genuine feeling of being accepted just as you are, however you are, regardless of sexuality, disability, etc.

There is something special about being able to show up and feeling like you fit in, without that voice in the back of your head wondering what people are really thinking and stressing about what you need to do to appear “normal.” I don’t have to be the feminine female that society says (or means) I should be. I don’t have to have a husband or a traditional lucrative career and fancy home to feel like I fit in. And unlike so many sports, I don’t feel like I have to be a skilled and super athletic player to feel like I deserve a spot on the team. I can be awkward, fumble my words, or do something stupid, and they don’t look at me funny and cast me aside – they embrace my awkward and keep talking to me as I relearn how to be human.

Through MGHA hockey, I’ve learned to push myself and recondition my body beyond what I ever thought I’d be able to do again. Importantly, I’ve also to play within my limits; in other words, I don’t have to stay on the ice until I am on the brink of passing out in order to please the team. MGHA has taught me to push myself in all the right ways (even if that means holding back or taking a break) by giving me a safe and supportive environment to do so. My teammates cheer me on and give me positive feedback, even when I struggle, rather than reject me.

Don’t get me wrong, I still have ongoing health struggles and medical hardware installed. I was (and probably still am) hella awkward…but my MGHA people do not seem to mind. I’ve built acquaintances and friendships. Heck, I even ended up unexpectedly finding a relationship through all my 1200 layers of awkward!

So what does gay hockey mean to me? Well, to put it in a more succinct fashion, it has helped me become a human again, in both a physical and social sense. It’s shown me that “Embrace your differences” and “It’s ok to be gay” are real sentiments, not words that may or may not be true. It’s helped me venture back out into the world by providing a truly safe space and by empowering me to feel confident in who I am as myself, not as who I think society wants me to be.

I could say that I’m sad that I didn’t start playing hockey way back at 10 years old when I first decided that I wanted to play. Indeed, there is a part of me that’s sad that I’ve missed so many years of this great sport, but the truth is, I don’t think I’d have had nearly as positive of an experience as I have with MGHA. Like my one year playing basketball, I’d have probably felt stressed and deficient, decided I didn’t like the sport, and then quit forever. I like this ending much better – the one where I can say “I am too worth it NOT to be playing hockey!”

For me, joining the MGHA has been both a way to connect with a loved one’s memory and part of my
own journey of self-discovery.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

I grew up in Minnesota, land of bait shops, Lutheran churches, and the North Stars. I actually never played hockey back then, but my little brother did, so our little sister and I got dragged to plenty of games and got a taste of what it means to be a hockey family.

Adam really liked hockey, but then we moved to Papua New Guinea and the equator isn’t really the place to find a flourishing hockey scene, so he switched to focusing on swimming instead and both he and my sister swam all the way through college.

As siblings, we stayed close through the years, and eventually a shift happened. The dynamic went from both of them looking up to me as the oldest, to my looking up to the two of them as just amazing humans in their own right. (There’s a point to all this, I swear. There’s also a twist that’s about to happen, so brace yourself.)

Anna and I both found careers in our respective fields (social work/case management for her, healthcare IT for me), while Adam ended up enlisting in the Army, where he became a Green Beret and had an incredible 8-year career (two tours in Afghanistan and one in Iraq, too many awards to list). Then, in October 2016, he was killed in action, and my world ground to a halt.

Here’s the Facebook post I did the next day:

“My little brother Adam was killed in Afghanistan yesterday. He was kind and smart and funny and brave. He was 4 years younger, but he taught me to love the important things in life: dinosaurs and X-Men and Star Wars. He was the best brother anyone could ask for, and we’ll all feel his loss forever.”

Adam’s death was the worst thing that had ever happened to me, by a factor of millions. I simply couldn’t handle it, despite having an amazing support system. But – even in the middle of the darkest time of my life – it spurred me on a journey of my own, a super gay journey that ultimately led me to the MGHA (see? I didn’t forget what this essay is about!).

I wrote about that journey on Facebook on October 10th, 2019 (the day before National Coming Out Day because I just got too excited to wait to post it):

“I think most of my Facebook community knows that the last few years have been sort of…well, hectic. It’s been 3 years since my little brother Adam died. I posted about that. I almost killed myself because I felt really sad. I posted about that too. But believe it or not, there’s some stuff that the broader Facebook community maybe doesn’t know yet, and I’m hoping someone finds this useful. It took me until I was 35 years old to figure out that I was gay. No – strike that – it took a catastrophic life event to strip me down to the point where I was able to admit to myself that I was gay.

Three years ago, it was intensive therapy that saved my life. Therapy is hard emotional work. It sucks sometimes. And – like every sci-fi movie ever – sometimes you bring stuff up from the depths that you didn’t mean to. In my case, that meant my gayness. At one point, I was finally able to process my feelings about Adam, but my therapist said he felt like there was something I still wasn’t being honest with myself about. I don’t know if he just got a gay vibe from all the flannel I wear or if he didn’t even know what the thing was, but I went away and thought about it and finally – undoing many long years of lying to myself – realized that he was right.

My next therapy session, I couldn’t quite meet his eyes, but I did manage to blurt out “I’m questioning
my sexuality.” I didn’t even say the words “I’m gay” yet. And he just looked at me. I paused and there
was a long awkward moment, and then he said “You literally thought the world was going to end, didn’t
you?” And I said, “I literally did.” So that was the first time I ever said it out loud.

Now – this is not a “yay Maggie” story. I don’t think I’m brave or special or anything. If you’re wondering
why I even feel the need to “come out” publicly, I guess it’s a) informational for people in my life that I
don’t see every day who didn’t know this already, and b) a message for anyone who’s struggling with
similar issues that you can make your way out on the other end and survive. The reason it’s really not a
“yay Maggie” story is that obviously this has had a huge impact on my family.

My own parents happen to be super woke and I love them. When I first told them I was gay, they were
on speakerphone like all adorable parents are. My mom said “I love you and you’ll always be my little
girl.” And my dad said, “Well, that explains how you felt about the pink Power Ranger in 7th grade.”
(Yep, Dad, it sure does.) So I’m lucky. My family of origin was super cool with this. My sister Anna is amazing and supportive as always, and I know that Adam would have been super supportive and funny and probably made the best gay jokes.

But obviously, it’s my family of today that has been most affected by this. Steven is an amazing human and has helped dozens of LGBTQ teens throughout the years, so he’s been great about this whole situation. But divorce is hard, even a really amicable one like ours. He’s still my best friend and the best guy I’ve ever known. We’ve been reconfiguring our family for the last couple of years now, and it’s hard work. Sometimes it sucks, for the kids especially. Sometimes it sucks for Steven. It’s been hard on all of them, and I don’t want to minimize that. But if I hadn’t moved forward, I don’t know what would have happened. You have to live your truth, as the cliché goes.

Anyway. Again, I’m lucky. Amazingly lucky. My family, my friends, my coworkers – everyone I’ve told has been unbelievably supportive. (And to be honest, no one seems that surprised. I mean, it really is a LOT of flannel.) I even have an awesome girlfriend, Emily Hansel. So I guess now if you see me holding hands with some woman, you can be appropriately grossed out by our PDA but at least not be super shocked. She’s been on a journey of her own, and I don’t know if she really understands just how much she’s helping me with mine.

Anyway, that’s it. All the therapy, the gay stuff included, has really really helped me, to the point where I don’t think about killing myself all the time. So that’s a pretty big win for someone in my situation. (Side note: It’s weird because who I’m attracted to doesn’t seem like it should be such a big deal when you look at all the other things that make up a person. For example: I like Pop-Tarts better when they’re untoasted. I won’t use self-checkout because I’m afraid it will yell at me to put items in the bag that are already in the bag. My favorite animal is the majestic wombat. My biggest weakness is Tostitos with a Hint of Lime. I still love my kids more than anything and I still love Steven and I still think the pink Power Ranger was like the hottest person ever. Basically…I’m still me.)

So. If you’re curious, if you have questions like “how could she not know?” I would love to grab a coffee sometime and tell you all about the power of denial. Seriously. I’m happy to answer questions people have or whatever. And for sure, if you’re going through something similar, I’m always here to listen.”
<end incredibly long Facebook post>

Fast-forward to fall 2021. I’m super out and proud. I’m a 40-year-old woman with a 15-year career, two amazing kids, the same awesome girlfriend (Emily), and a sad lack of her own activities. I mostly shuttle the kids around and go to Emily’s sporting events to cheer her on. But I desperately wanted a thing, something to call my own.

Then one day, my next-door office neighbor Nick said “You should join the MGHA!” He’s been a member for a long time and has mentioned it from time to time, but I never thought about it seriously because how would I find the time? But for some reason, this time, I thought, “I should join the MGHA!” I asked him some questions, talked it over with my girlfriend (who was incredibly supportive), and decided to apply. I didn’t get in. The league was full.

Not gonna lie, I took it pretty hard. I remember ranting to Nick about how I just wanted something that was mine, and it sucks that I got my hopes up, and on and on. (He puts up with a lot.) I didn’t blame the MGHA, it made sense that the league was full, but I wasn’t too happy with the universe. Then there must have been a cancellation because I got an email offering me a spot! I was assigned a mentor, the incredible Ingrid, and she was the most patient person ever because I knew nothing. Ingrid very kindly met me at Play It Again Sports to help me find gear, and like a nerd I printed out the shopping list from the MGHA website and checked off items as we found them. I still to this day pack my hockey bag exactly like Ingrid taught me (one glove inside the helmet, shin guards inside the breezers to save room). I’ve only skated maybe once or twice per year since I was a kid, so I’m sure I looked like Bambi on the ice
that first time. But I tell you – the first time I hit a puck with my stick, I felt like I was home. It became pretty apparent, in those early skills clinics, practices, and scrimmages, that I was downright
terrible at hockey. I was routinely the slowest one out there, I could never skate backwards, and the first few times I tried to hit the puck I would overbalance and sometimes fall down. No one in the league – not a single person – ever made me feel bad about it. I have never been in a more supportive, encouraging, loving environment. And this is a sport known for knocking men’s teeth out!

I got assigned to a team, the yellow team, Team Caution! (The exclamation point is part of the name.) I was only slightly disappointed when my team name, Seven Deadly Suns, didn’t get chosen, but I came to embrace the theme and chose the name “Wrong Way” for my jersey. The team was wonderful. There wasn’t a single person who rubbed me the wrong way, and I would be happy to get a beer with any of them. (Seriously, Team Caution!, hit me up: mstack@epic.com) Our captains, Trisha and Eric, helped set an atmosphere that was welcoming and encouraging and prioritized team play, like making good passes.

And my support system – ah, my support system! Emily came to every single game she could and always had words of encouragement for me. My sister came down and went to a game (and loved it). Lots of my friends rotated through coming to various games, and Emily’s parents even surprised us at the rink one night! But my favorite was when my younger daughter was able to come to games – seeing how proud she was meant the world to me.

I played left or right wing and gradually came to remember that we switched sides every period, so left and right were on new sides. I only went to the wrong side a couple of times (living up to my name, Wrong Way). And I got better! Emily said she could see a huge difference between my first game and my last. My last game was my best game. I still didn’t manage to score a goal all year, but I did get a couple of assists, which I’m really proud of. In that last game, there was one time I was playing right wing, racing down to our offensive zone with Meg at center and Zach at left wing. Zach passed it to Meg, who passed it to me, and I took the shot – but their goalie is amazing and she saved it.

Zach said “Good shot, Maggie!”

Meg said “Good shot, Maggie!”

And Gabby – their goalie – said “Good shot, Maggie!”

That moment captured the essence of the MGHA Way. Experienced players, even from the other team,
encouraging a new player who did her best.

Our captain Trisha gave each person a word at the end of the season, to capture how their season went. The word she chose for me was ‘Wonder’, and she wrote, “You enjoy the game and bring that joy to your teammates. Relearning the game alongside you boosts the morale of our team and refreshes our love of the game.”

So what does Madison gay hockey mean to me? It’s a chance to connect with and remember Adam. It’s a step on my own journey of self-discovery. It’s an opportunity to meet amazing people. And, perhaps most of all, it’s a way of life, of celebrating kindness, inclusion, and teamwork. I want to be someone who embodies the MGHA Way.

Thank you for reading! If anything in here resonated with you, feel free to email me at the email address above, or find me on Facebook as Maggie Claire.

Dexter Lane

Team: The Abominable Snowpeeps

My earliest memory of hockey is from elementary school. I came home from school and told my father that I quit soccer so I could play hockey instead. He told me absolutely not and signed me up for girl scouts. I grew up playing soccer from then on. I played many other sports through the years, but soccer was always my constant. I was engaged in sports year-round until my junior year of high school. Shortly after I graduated high school in 2009, I got sick, and after months of tests, procedures, and surgeries, I was finally able to come back home. I was given a prescription for Percocet, and I flew through them. This really opened the door for my addiction, and for the next several years I used a variety of drugs daily.

It’s fair to say that I have very little recollection of a large portion of 2015. I was living in Madison, and I woke up on the top of a parking ramp in West Virginia with almost no memory of how I got there. I came home and overdosed for the final time, less than a week later. After being taken to the emergency department and receiving Narcan, I spent the next three days in the hospital. I have almost no memory of my time at the hospital. What I do remember is the doctors telling me that if I would have gone home and gone to sleep, I would not have woken up. Within weeks I found a treatment center in the area that felt right for me, and I dove in. I made my recovery my full-time job.

I had many obstacles to overcome, but something that always seemed to pull me down was boredom. I had received emails from Patrick Farabaugh asking if I was interested in playing hockey.  With a lot of hesitation and fear, I made the jump. I laced up skates for the first time just days before the evaluations. I walked into that building not knowing a single person. I specifically remember Leah Rudin watching me try to tie my skates. When I looked up, she gave me a smile and said, “Can I show you a trick?” I use that same trick to this day. When I started hobbling to the ice, Christina Libs said, “You’ll need one of these.” as she tossed me one of her old jerseys with an “A” on it. She said, “Look at that, you are already an assistant captain.”  As my skate gilded onto the ice for the first time, I grasped tightly to the boards. I must have looked up with a face of pure panic because Molly Costello looked at me and said, “Hey, you got this.”  That first day on skates was one of the first solid memories I have after I found sobriety.

My first year of hockey wasn’t pretty, on or off the ice. On the ice, I was not the best skater. I had a tough time with the rules and was extremely quiet. Off the ice, I was dealing with a lot of anger. The first year of sobriety is hard for anyone, and another one of my biggest struggles was anger. I had spent the last five years numb and was finally starting to feel everything I had been suppressing. Looking back on the first year or two of hockey, admittedly, it was not the best reflection of who I wanted to be.

The entire first year of hockey, most people did not know I identified as a transman. I was not a very social human, and outside of Rainbow Kate, I really didn’t connect with anyone in the MGHA right away. It wasn’t until the beginning of the second year that I came out as a transman in all aspects of my life. The MGHA was the newest community I was a part of, but it instantly made me feel the most welcome when it came to how I was going to identify. It was the first space I was a part of where someone asked me and respected my pronouns.

When I reflect on where I started my journey versus where I am, I can’t thank hockey and the MGHA enough. Hockey gave me a place to go when just that was all I needed. MGHA was the first place I was able to feel completely like myself. It was the first place I could comfortably walk in a space and say, “My name is Dex, my pronouns are he/him/his, and I’m in recovery.” Those were two huge parts of my identity that I was hiding in different areas of my life. I was never made to feel uncomfortable for being in recovery, nor did I ever feel left out. I was still always invited out after games. Connection was difficult for me for many years, and if I’m being honest, it wasn’t until the last several years that I really started to open up and make deeper connections at MGHA. I feel that last year has been the best reflection of the true me. I feel more involved, have more patience, and have made so many meaningful connections. To quote Johann Hari, “The opposite of addiction is not sobriety. The opposite of addiction is connection.”  I came here angry, alone, and closed off. Hockey and the MGHA family have helped me find that connection was possible for me and gave me something to feel passionate about.